


The Strength of the Wolf is the Pack

by Feileacan



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Feral Behavior, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Goalies Are Weird, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-09-25 23:55:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17131106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feileacan/pseuds/Feileacan
Summary: People don't shift anymore, not fully. The closest most people get is antsy around the full moon, restlessness rooted in ancestral memory. There are some people, though, who get closer to their wolf, and an even smaller number among them that get feral.  Something about playing goal, about giving someone a territory to protect and an opposing pack coming at them, draws the animal so close to the surface that eventually it can't be put away.Or maybe it can.





	The Strength of the Wolf is the Pack

**Author's Note:**

  * For [foxfireflamequeen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxfireflamequeen/gifts).



The first time Sid started feeling his shift in the net, his dad told him he was done playing goal. He hadn't understood at the time, but he'd hung up his glove and his pads and switched to a skater's stick and never looked back.

He understands later. Something about playing goal, about giving someone a territory to protect and an opposing pack coming at them, drew the animal so close to the surface that eventually it couldn't be put away. Taylor snarls more often than not nowadays, and Sid sometimes looks at her and thinks, _just stop, just switch to defense, just stop playing at all_. Things he never thought he would think about anyone when it came to hockey, but he's seen how goalies get, once the human hormones start running rampant in Juniors and amplifying the shift. One of his teammates on Rimouski lost half a season after being mauled by a goalie.

Sid remembers Flower from World Juniors. They all flew over a week before practice was even due to start, ready to do scent work with their goalie. Sid had pedaled on an exercise bike until he felt like he would fall over, working up a sweat in his shirt and then pulling it off and handing it to a trainer, just like the rest of the skaters were doing. He never even saw Flower until their third practice. They'd been warned not to come too close to the crease, either in practice or when they played—they weren't Flower's regular team, just a bunch of strangers, and a little scent familiarity wouldn't stop him from lashing out.

In the NHL, it's not much different. They stay away from Thibault when he's in his net, especially the rookies who he hasn't gotten time to get used to. Mario can sometimes skate right up to him, but only for a little while before Thibault starts growling and he backs off in a hurry. He's an older goalie, experienced, used to the ice, the noise, and being tethered in the crease. The trainers don't have to drag him out in chains anymore.

Sid has almost forgotten what it's like to bring a young goalie onto the ice. Flower is still lanky, thin and wiry, but he seems bigger, from the way he's snarling and throwing his weight to the end of his chain, clawing at the collar, his eyes a feral red and the tips of his canines sticking out over his bottom lip. The trainers get him tethered in the crease and back off fast.

"Alright, listen up," Mario says, tapping his stick on the ice to get everyone's attention. "Thibs is going to be out for a while with his hip, and it's up in the air whether he's back this season, so we're bringing Flower up."

Flower doesn't seem to recognize his name. Sid is watching him as Mario speaks, and all he seems to want to do is test out the strength of the tether. He pulls hard, digging his claws into the ice for traction, but it doesn't give.

"The trainers are here to explain how to handle Flower. He's young, so he's going to be a lot different than Thibs back there, and a lot more risky to get close to. Keep your distance for a while until we all get a chance to do scent work with him."

One of the trainers who hauled Flower in takes Mario's place at the center of the circle, and Sid tunes out. He remembers this lecture from World Juniors, and besides, his eyes keep sliding back to Flower like they're drawn there. Sid hasn't felt his wolf in years, not outside the restlessness and the tug of longing on the full moon. He feels it now, stirring with interest in the back of his head.

He slips out of the circle as quietly as he can. Talbo doesn't seem to notice, his attention fixed raptly on the trainers, and Mario isn't looking at him just then. Nobody sees him skate closer at first. Flower lets out a low growl of warning as Sid approaches the edge of his crease. He's in his gear, but his glove and his blocker sit forgotten as he claws up the ice, roughing it. Sid goes down into a crouch, letting his momentum carry him within swiping distance. Flower rears back into his net, a louder growl rumbling from his throat.

"Sid!" someone calls from behind him, alarmed.

"It's alright, he knows me," he says, shaking off his glove so he can offer Flower his hand. "Isn't that right? Poke check?"

Flower's growls die off into harsh breaths through his mouth, scenting. His snarl dies on his lips. A little bit of gold bleeds back into the feral red of his eyes.

"Yeah, you know me," Sid says. His wolf is urging him closer. He doesn't understand, but he listens, still crouched down. Flower's nose brushes the ends of his fingers. Sid coasts to a stop far closer than he should be. He can almost feel the rink holding its breath behind him.

Flower nips gently at the end of his fingers, and the corners of his mouth curl up. "Sid," he says.

"Yeah. I knew you remembered." A smile breaks out over Sid's face, and in turn, Flower bares his over-large fangs in what would probably be a smile if his teeth weren't too big for his mouth.

"From Helsinki," Flower says, which is a little bit of a surprise, because usually when someone is this far into feral they don't remember those kinds of details.

"Silver medals," Sid agrees, and laughs when Flower pulls a tragic face. "It wasn't your fault."

"It was," Flower grumbles, a little bit of a growl in his voice. He backs into the goal a little, and Sid shouldn't, but he follows. Flower eyes him like he's deciding whether he likes Sid enough to not maul him.

"We should have played better enough that it didn't come down to one goal," Sid says, shaking his head. "And we're going to do that for you this time, okay?"

"Sid, you need to come away from there." Mario's voice is a lot closer than it was, and Sid's shoulders go tight.

Flower's head snaps up immediately, tension coiling through his muscles like a spring. Sid doesn't have time to react before one of Flower's clawed hands closes over his wrist and yanks, pulling him off-balance. Someone yells his name, but Sid is busy curling his arms around his head to keep it from hitting the ice and trying to figure out what just happened. He hears snarling, the creaking of chain. He tries to sit up and finds that he can't, not really, because he's behind Flower in the net and Flower is straining a the end of his chain, swiping at Mario, who stands just far enough away not to get caught on Flower's claws.

Flower looks dangerous, even more than he did already. His hands have shifted fully now, with leathery pads on the palms and razor-sharp claws on the ends. His face looks a little longer than it did, like his nose and mouth are starting to shift into a snout. His ears have gone fuzzy and pointed. Something creaks, and it takes Sid a second to realize it's Flower's pads, that they're straining against the bulk his shift is trying to put on him.

The chains that tether goalies in their net are meant to stand up to a partial shift, but Sid isn't sure about a full shift, and his heart hammers as he watches Mario glide back no more than a couple inches, still watching Sid with his mouth pinched as Flower lunges for him. If Flower gets loose, it's going to get ugly.

"Hey," Sid says. His instincts tell him he needs to touch. The pads and the jersey are in the way, so Sid slides up to Flower as best he can with as little room as he has in the net and presses the back of his hand to Flower's neck.

Flower takes one last swipe at Mario and snarls, then curls an arm around Sid and drags him even closer, retreating into the net again. They're tangled together, and Sid is trying to keep his skates clear since he thinks he's the only one of the two of them who remembers they still have blades attached to their feet. Flower shoves his nose against Sid's exposed skin and rubs his cheek there. Scenting, but not as detached and professional as passing a sweaty shirt off to a trainer to give to a goaltender he hasn't even met yet. Sid feels himself flush.

"Hey, Mario is good, okay? He's on our team." Sid tries to pull away so he can at least look at Flower, try and gauge whether some of the shift has gone back under his skin, but Flower's arms are like iron around him, unmovable.

"Team," Flower says, sounding uncertain. He huffs a warm breath over Sid's neck. Somewhere deep within him, Sid's wolf feels like it stirs.

"Pack," Sid says, because Flower is deep in the wolf's head, now. "He's part of our pack."

Flower lifts his head from Sid's neck, and Sid still can't see what's going on because he's pinned against the bulk of Flower's chest. He thinks he hears the sound of more skates on the ice, more people coming in closer. Flower's growl starts up again.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. They're all our pack." He stops trying to pull away, if only because Flower's growls get louder when he does. "You're fine, we're all fine. This is our ice, remember?"

Flower doesn't say anything for several long moments. He stops growling, and Sid can feel Flower sniffing at his hair before he finally picks his head up, presumably to get a look at how many people are around his net.

"Sid, are you okay?" That's Talbo, sounding halfway to panic, and Sid better reassure someone before they bring the trainers back out here with the tranquilizers.

"I'm fine," he says. "We know each other."

"I can see that," Mario says dryly. "World Juniors was two years ago, I didn't expect he would remember you."

Flower finally lets him sit up, apparently satisfied that nothing here is a threat, and Sid brushes snow off his pants from where Flower dragged him through the roughed-up crease into the net. Flower's arm tightens when he tries to actually stand up, though, so Sid settles back in. They're pressed up against each other, hip to shoulder, and Sid thinks maybe he should be embarrassed about that. He's sure his face is red when he looks up at the team, in a loose half-circle around the goal, out of Flower's reach.

"Pack," Flower says again, still sounding a little dubious. "Your pack?"

"Our pack," Sid says, maybe a little more firm than it has to be. The feral red is back in Flower's eyes, any awareness of anything outside his wolf gone for the time being. "Is it okay if Mario comes closer? So you know what he smells like?"

"I've already done scent work with him," Mario says, eyeing the pair of them warily.

"He needs a face to put the scent to," one of the trainers puts in. "It's a little more accelerated than usual, but." She shrugs. She also has a rifle in her hands, barrel pointed at the ice. Sid's heart thumps against his ribs even though he knows it's only tranquilizer, and Flower pulls Sid half-behind him into the goal again, growling.

"Better get out of his line of sight with that," Mario says to the trainer. "You're making him nervous."

"I'm not making him nervous," the trainer says, nonplussed. "He's in full protective mode, it's Sid's reactions he's keyed in on."

Everyone turns to look at Sid again. He's used to scrutiny, but mostly from the media and from strangers, not from people he has to play with. He tries on a shaky smile.

"Flower? Is Mario okay?"

"Mine," Flower growls, low and insistent, one clawed hand wrapped possessively around Sid's arm.

"Nobody is going to try and take Sid," Mario says. He keeps his voice low and soothing. "Sid can stay right there until it's time for him to skate, if that's what you want."

"Mine," Flower insists again, but he's not growling as much anymore. Cautiously, slowly, he uncurls, like he's expecting to be attacked for it. He stretches out to the end of his tether, inhaling a deep sniff. He tilts his head.

"Recognize me?" Mario asks. He shakes off his glove and offers his bare hand, still not quite close enough for Flower to reach. "I'm Mario. Sid lives with me."

"Mario," Flower repeats. He pauses, his hand tightening briefly on Sid's arm. When Sid leans around to see his face, he's frowning, his eyebrows drawn together. His eyes flicker gold, not red. He looks like he's struggling with something. After a second, he looks back up at Mario. "I know you."

"We've met before. I was there when you were drafted." Mario sounds pleased. The pinch is starting to go away from his mouth and he looks less like he's going to leap into the crease and drag Sid out of it, which wouldn't go well for anyone involved.

"Mario. Pack." Flower sounds firm on this point now, and he strains against his chain to try and sniff Mario's hand again. Mario finally comes within grabbing distance, ignoring the sharp intakes of breath from the rest of the team. Flower rubs his face against Mario's wrist and licks his palm, before looking up and grinning with all his teeth.

"Normally it would have taken us a week to get to this stage," the trainer says dryly. "Good work, Sid."

"I didn't do anything, I just knew him," Sid protests, but nobody is listening.

They're able to introduce most of the rest of the team to Flower that day. He takes to Talbo readily enough when Sid introduces him as his friend, and Gonch steadies him with a calm voice that Sid is willing to bet he uses to talk to his kids. He's easier with the younger members of the team than the veterans, which the trainer explains is likely due to Thibs' lingering scent and how long they've spent around another goalie. He'll come around, she assures them. It's already highly unusual for him to have bonded with someone this quickly and this strongly.

It takes a lot of reassurance and coaxing, but Flower finally lets Sid out of his goal for practice. Sid can feel Flower's eyes on him, tracking his movements across the ice as he skates. It makes the hair on the back of his neck prickle, but at the same time, his wolf only feels content. It's strange that he even gets that much—he hasn't felt his wolf this much since he stopped playing goal.

He's running drills with Mario, which is its own kind of head trip all on its own, when the same trainer who'd been ready to tranquilize Flower waves him over to the boards. She's since gotten rid of the rifle, but Sid probably still looks wary, because she lifts both her hands to show they're empty.

"It was just a precaution," she says. "Just in case he got a little overzealous about protecting you."

"I didn't know that would happen." Sid figures he should at least try to explain himself. "It's just, by the time World Juniors was done, he knew who I was. I would score on him in practice and he would swipe at me a little and bark, like he was playing. I guess I thought he would still remember."

"Well, he does, which is good. You did the right thing, getting him used to the notion that he has a pack here, and they aren't going to hurt him. That's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

"What is?" Sid looks over at Flower and finds that Flower's eyes are on him, not on the shooters coming at him with the puck. Sid watches Brooks swing over to the empty side of the goal, thinking he can score on Flower while he's distracted, only to have Flower abruptly close the gap in a full split, bat the puck away almost contemptuously, and snarl at Brooks until he trips backward over his skates and lands on his ass. Sid can't even help it—he laughs. Flower looks over at him, and it's too far away to tell, but Sid thinks he's smiling. He waves at Flower from the boards.

"You see how he's fixated on you?" The trainer asks, in a tone that tells Sid it's best to answer honestly, so he nods. "Yeah, that's going to be a problem when it's time for us to take him home. He's not going to want to let him out of your sight, and we might have to sedate him."

Deep in his chest, Sid feels a little rumble. It's startling, completely unexpected, and he swallows back the growl before it can emerge. The trainer is looking at him like she heard it anyway.

"What do you want me to do?"

"You're living with Mario?" she asks, and when Sid nods again, she continues, "I'd like you to move your stuff to Flower's. Don't worry, he actually has a normal place, not a cave in a field or something. He can't manage a full shift, and he still likes human creature comforts. Off the ice, he's a lot easier to talk to."

It's sudden. Sid had taken Mario up on his offer because it seemed like the thing to do, and because he didn't want to be insulting. It's still his rookie year, and he thinks it's probably a little too soon to be moving out on his own. But then, he wouldn't really be on his own. Whenever a goalie is put together enough to live outside an arena's compound, the trainers are always closeby in case of emergency. And he's sure Mario will look in on him as often as he feels like, regardless of how much Sid reassures him that everything is fine.

"Yeah, for sure, if you think it'll help him," Sid says, aware that he's been silent for too long and she's still waiting for an answer.

"We'd also like to put the two of you together on the road. Road travel is hard on goalies, especially the young ones, when they're so much closer to feral. Having someone familiar there with him will help."

"Anything he needs," Sid says. 

It isn't until he sees the trainer's eyebrows go up that he realizes that was a little bit of a blank check, but he doesn't take it back. He's heard stories about goalies that go too far feral, to the point where they can't be brought back and they won't bond with a pack. Nobody really knows what happens to them after that, but they can't play hockey, they're too dangerous on the ice. Flower is _good_ , that much Sid had seen at World Juniors, nevermind the fact that he was taken first overall. That never happens with goalies. They're too unpredictable, too hard to manage. Flower, though—if they can get Flower settled with the team, like Thibs was, Sid thinks they can really go for it.

"Why did you go over there? Most players don't want to risk being mauled."

"My wolf told me to," Sid says, shrugging. "I haven't felt my wolf like that since I was six. Figured it must be important, so I listened."

"Sid!" Mario calls from the middle of the ice. "Are you done?"

"Yeah, coming!" Sid calls back. "Sorry, have to go."

"I understand," the trainer says, flapping a hand at him in a shooing motion.

Sid doesn't miss how her eyes flick from him to Flower, sharp and interested, but he dismisses it as unimportant. Nobody really knows how their wolves work anymore. It's been hundreds of thousands of years since people could full-shift and run under the light of the full moon. The closest they get nowadays is a little bit of a howl.

The trainer wasn't wrong about Flower's response to Sid leaving. When they're done and they start to skate off the ice, he makes a shuddering, howling noise that sounds mournful and starts scrabbling at the ice, the end of his tether pulled taut.

"Better go see what he wants, eh?" Talbo says. He still looks at Flower like he's something terrifying and dangerous. Sid steps away from the tunnel and watches Flower settle immediately, shaking his head.

"He just wants to know where I am," Sid says, and skates back over to the crease. Talbo shrugs and goes off down the tunnel.

He doesn't expect Flower to pull him into the net again, or for him to curl up around Sid like a blanket and start scenting his neck. His face flames, and he's glad the rest of the team has left the ice or he'd never hear the end of this.

Someone clears their throat from just outside the crease, and Flower sits up with a growl, shoving Sid behind him.

"Hi, Flower." It's the same trainer from before. She has her rifle slung over her back, not in her hands this time. Within easy reach, but not so obviously brandished. "It's Meghan, remember me? I take care of you at home."

Flower is still rumbling suspiciously, deep in his chest. Sid sits up to press his nose against Flower's cheek, the same way Flower had done to him before.

"It's okay. She's a friend."

"Pack?" Flower asks, dubious.

"Not... exactly. Kind of, though. I mean, she might as well be." Sid shrugs, unable to find the right way to explain the team's auxilliary staff in terms of a wolf pack. "She's safe, is what matters."

Meghan waits patiently for him to explain all this, and waits even longer for Flower to stretch out and try to scent her fingers. She lets him, not anywhere near as afraid as half the team had been, and then slides her fingers into Flower's hair and scratches at his scalp like she's petting a good dog.

Sid's wolf uncoils within him again. He closes one hand around Flower's wrist and tugs him back, away from Meghan and into the crease. Flower looks at him in something like surprise, and Sid looks down at the ice, completely unable to explain why he'd reacted that way. Instead, he reaches up and scratches at the back of Flower's neck, and is rewarded by something that sounds like a soft chuckle. A human noise, instead of a growl.

"Sid, I already let Mario know what the deal was with you moving," Meghan says. "I didn't think we should separate the two of you even long enough for you to get your things. Flower is very attached to you, I have a feeling he'd get a little violent if he wasn't able to tell where you were."

"You know I'd be safe with Mario," Sid says, nudging Flower in the side with his elbow. The look Flower gives him is extremely unimpressed.

"What about it, Flower, are you ready to go home?" Meghan doesn't talk to him like some of the trainers at World Juniors did, like Flower actually was a dog. She keeps her questions simple, but her tone is light and cheerful, not condescending. Sid likes her, he decides. If she's going to be the one in charge of managing Flower, that could be okay.

"Home." Flower repeats, like he's answering instead of questioning. He straightens up and looks down at his pads, tilting his head. "Off?"

"Can he come to the locker room?" Sid asks.

"Not yet," Meghan says. "We'll work up to that, but he wasn't easy with everyone yet and it can get a little chaotic after practice. I don't want him getting jostled and going for someone when he's not on a tether."

Sid expected that, kind of, but he looks down at his own gear and has a little bit of a mental disconnect. Flower doesn't want to let Sid out of his sight, but he needs to change and shower and get his gear together.

"Hey," he says, turning to Flower. "I have to go for just a little bit. I'll be back, okay?"

Flower frowns at him. Sid skates backward a little, toward the tunnel, and he lurches forward against his tether, reaching.

"It's okay," Sid says, reassuring. "I'll see you in just a few minutes. Meghan will help you out, right?"

Flower looks between Sid and Meghan. He looks a lot less feral now than when he first came onto the ice. His face has gone mostly flat again, and while the tips of his canine teeth are still visible when he talks, his mouth isn't full of over-large predator teeth anymore. His ears have even gone back to normal. Sid doesn't know much about goalies and the way their wolves work, but he thinks that's a good sign.

"Just a few minutes?" Flower asks, and it's the most coherent sentence Sid has heard from him all day.

"Yeah," Sid says, giving him a tap on the pads with his stick. "I'll be right back. No worries."

Flower's eyes follow him as he skates off the ice, but he doesn't start putting up a racket again, and when Sid looks back over his shoulder as he's going down the tunnel, Meghan has his tether unhooked and is gently herding him off in the direction of the visitor's locker room. Sid makes a face, wondering how they're going to manage during games. Thibs was usually in the room with them, unless he was having a bad day.

Meghan has said that Flower would get there, just that it would take time. He's already on an accelerated schedule, so maybe it'll come quicker than anyone expects. Sid kind of likes the idea of that; he's been defying expectations practically as long as he's been alive. Maybe from now on, the two of them can do that together.

A lot of guys have already changed and left, but Talbo and Army are both still there. He's glad there doesn't seem to be any media hanging around waiting for him—it was a closed practice today, but sometimes the media team will release clips, and Sid hopes they don't release any of Flower guarding him in the net like a mama bird with her chicks. It almost doesn't matter that there isn't any media, though, because Sid's friends are almost as bad.

"What the fuck is up with you and the goalie, man?" Army asks, and Sid can tell by Talbo's face that he's just barely restraining himself. "I thought Mario was going to have a fucking heart attack when he saw you over there."

"I've never seen him go so white," Talbo adds, looking around a little to make sure Mario isn't still in the room before he laughs. "It was like he was watching his kid stick a fork in an electrical outlet."

"I was fine," Sid says, a little more irritably than he intended. "Flower and I played World Juniors together in Helsinki. I knew he'd gone to Pittsburgh in the draft, I guess I just didn't expect he'd be coming up already."

"I mean, I played with Eric for three years in the Q and I still kept my distance," Talbo says. "Goalies are just fucking wild, man, you can't do shit with them."

"My sister plays goal," Sid says, struggling to keep his voice neutral. They're talking about Flower like he's some kind of dangerous animal they've caught in the woods. People who walk the edge of feral, or who go feral entirely—they're still people. It's rare, and it happens most often in sports, but it does happen elsewhere.

"Oh well that explains it," Army says, a little laugh at the back of his voice. "Sid the goalie whisperer. Hey, didn't you say you played goal when you were a kid?"

"For a little while," Sid says, bending down to pull tape off his socks so he can look at the floor instead of anyone's face. He doesn't know why it feels like fur is rising on the back of his neck. Those kind of phantom sensations, a shift where there isn't a shift, are things that people are supposed to grow out of when they get older.

He escapes the questions by hitting the showers, letting hot water pound down on his shoulders and back, rinsing away the sweat. There's soap in the showers, and Sid doesn't really know what makes him sniff it before he starts soaping his armpits, but the scent isn't offensive.

Talbo is still waiting for him when he's done. "Army and I are going to go grab something to eat, want to come?"

"Can't," Sid says, scrubbing his hair dry with a towel and getting back into the sweats and shirt he'd come to practice in. "I'm going back to Flower's place."

"Woah, really? He lives, like, off-campus? Or, whatever, you know what I mean." Talbo waves off the confusion. "Why are you going back there? It's, you know, his territory, eh? I know he didn't maul you in the net but—"

"The trainers suggested it," Sid says, and he knows he's being short again, he just can't help it. "I'm moving in."

"That's a little fast, don't you think?"

"They think it'll help. Since he's decided he doesn't want to let me out of his sight." Sid catches Talbo looking at him weirdly and starts to feel that prickly, rising-hackles sensation again. "What?"

"Nothing," Talbo says, shrugging. "I've never heard of a goalie doing this, is all. Everyone says it takes at least half a season to _kind of_ trust that you won't get shredded while blocking for your own goalie near the net."

Sid shrugs. He isn't really interested in trying to figure out why it's all happening. He's not here to discover the secrets of feral goalies, or something. He's got enough pressure already, with the press always talking about him being the next Gretzky and the savior of hockey or whatever they're spinning this week. Sid just wants to play, and he wants to play with the best. Flower, he can already tell, is going to be one of the best.

One of the other trainers, not Meghan, is waiting for him as he comes out of the locker room. He waves goodbye to Talbo and tries not to think about why he feels relieved to be walking away. Talbo is a good friend, and so is Army. They didn't mean anything by it. He's sure that they'll come around, probably once Flower stops growling at them when they get too close to Sid.

Sid hopes that once they're off the ice, he can talk to Flower a little about that. Taylor is way easier to talk to on days when she doesn't have practice or a game, but when she does, they have to get her before she goes to the rink. After she comes back, it can take a few hours for her to find language again, especially after a game. Sid doesn't know if it'll be faster or slower with Flower, who was already using more words on the ice than Sid has heard out of Taylor in years, even when he's just taking shots on her in shinny.

Sid's stomach turns a little when the trainer leads him out to the parking lot where Flower's transport is parked. It looks like a prison truck, not a car; it's big, bulky and armored, with mesh over the windows. Sid can hear noise coming from inside, thumping and howling.

"Can I ride in the back?" he asks. It pops out before he thinks about it, which is a little disconcerting. He's had a lot of years of practice where he learned how to not let his thoughts fall out of his mouth.

The trainer slants him a look. "Enclosed spaces make him nervous."

"Yeah, well, I don't blame him. I kind of make him un-nervous, isn't that why we're doing this?" Sid doesn't usually get short with rink staff, and he bites the side of his tongue now, hard. "Sorry. I just mean... I mean, listen."

Flower's howling sounds terrible, like he's panicked. For the third time today, Sid's wolf stirs in his chest, urging him forward to the doors. He tries the handle, but it's locked. He puts both palms flat on the door and figures, if Flower is still wolfed out right now, he'll be able to hear.

"Hey, hey, I'm here," he says, putting his mouth right up against the door. He hears one last thump, then a faint _whuff_ of breath, then the sound of claws, loud and torturous, dragging over metal from the inside. "It's okay, I'm going to get them to let me in. You have to calm down though, or they're going to think it's not safe."

The trainer has gone up to the driver's side window, presumably to confer with Meghan. When he comes back, he has a ring of keys in his hand.

"You sure you don't want to ride up front?" The thumping, clawing sounds had died down at the sound of Sid's voice, but when the trainer speaks, Sid can hear a loud growl from inside the transport.

"Meghan said it was okay?" Sid asks, because he still isn't stupid, he's not going to put himself in a position to get hurt not even halfway through his rookie season.

"Said he'd be fine." He sounds skeptical.

"Then I'm sure."

The guy looks a lot like he wants to say something like, your funeral, but he just unlocks the door and gestures for Sid to get in the back.

It's dark in there, and there's only one low bench seat. There are also some blankets piled on the floor. Sid crawls into the back and hears the door shut behind him, plunging them into relative darkness. Light does filter in through the narrow windows near the roof, but Sid has to blink rapidly before his eyes will adjust.

He still can't see much when he feels a hand close around his wrist, a gentle tug. He goes in the direction he's being pulled. Flower's fingers feel blunt now, not tipped with claws. He shifts rapidly, Sid notes. He doesn't know what's normal for goalies, whether gaining and losing his wolf features over a matter of moments is something else that makes Flower special.

There's a knock from the front compartment, and then Meghan's voice comes faintly from the front. "Go ahead and sit down, we're about to move."

Sid moves to sit on the seat, where he can buckle in, but Flower huffs at him and pulls until they're both sitting on the floor of the transport. Flower is wrapped around him again. Without the bulk of both their pads between them, Sid can feel the heat of his body. Flower's breath puffs over his hair, and he rubs his cheek on the side of Sid's face. More scenting. Sid is never going to smell like anyone other than Flower, at this rate.

"I need to buckle in." He tries to gently extract himself from Flower's hold and gets grumbling and tightening arms. "Hey, no offense, but some of us don't have your reflexes. Let me buckle."

They end up riding back to Flower's with Flower half-curled on the rest of the seat, his head resting on Sid's thigh. Sid spends the first few minutes stiff as a board, not sure what he's supposed to do with this much contact. When he was in Juniors, nobody wanted to give the time of day enough for something like this, the casual contact it seems like hockey players end up craving before the end of the season. He's not used to being touched. He's learned how to pull himself inside his own skin.

Flower doesn't know about any of the careful walls Sid has constructed to keep on an even keel throughout the season. They worked just fine for him in the Q, kept him from thinking about how none of his teammates and especially none of their parents liked him much. It's different on the Penguins, or at least it has been so far, but aside from Army trying to give him noogies now and again, it's been nothing like this. After a little while of bumpy progress, Sid's hand falls to rest on Flower's shoulder.

The trainers take them to a house, not a condo or an apartment. Sid doesn't see anything of it until they come to a stop and the trainers unlock the back doors. Blinking, he and Flower stretch out their limbs and crawl out into the sunlight.

Flower wastes no time kicking his shoes off and stripping his shirt over his head. He even takes off his socks, hopping on one foot at a time, before tearing off across the grass in the crisp October afternoon. He runs flat-out, his feet pounding the ground, breath clouding out of his mouth.

"Give him a minute," Meghan says, even though Sid isn't impatient at all. He's watching Flower run the length of the high privacy fence that surrounds the property, a fierce grin on his face.

"He always does this?"

"He wants to stretch his legs when he comes out of the transport." Meghan nods to the house. It's dark red brick, with climbing vines encouraged to wind their way up a trellis around the big bay window. "It's a two bedroom, so you'll have your own space. We're arranging for your stuff to be brought over from Mario's. Thank you, by the way."

"For what?" Sid feels puzzled. Across the yard, Flower has flopped down in the grass and is now rolling around in it, heedless of the crinkle of leaves and the crispness of the late autumn air.

"For agreeing to this. Moving in with a stranger at the drop of a hat. We're hoping it'll anchor him, and then he'll be able to make a seamless transition into the crease. Well, at least, that's what Mario is hoping for."

Sid looks away from where Flower is sitting up, scrubbing dry leaves out of his hair and spitting out grass. "What are you hoping for?"

Meghan has a smile pulling at her lips. Sid glances back at Flower. He's back on his feet, brushing off his pants. "I want him to be content. To be able to hang onto being human."

Flower flashes the two of them a huge smile. Without his fangs filling up his mouth, it's a great smile, wide and full of good humor. He jogs over to the two of them. There's still a leaf stuck in his hair behind his ear, but he doesn't seem to notice or care. Sid finds his eyes tracking down Flower's bare chest, to the rippled cut of his abs, and jerks his eyes back up.

"Feels good to run." Flower has his hands in his pockets, the easy grin on his face, and his eyes have gone back to gold, not a hint of red in them.

"I'll bet," Sid says, jerking his thumb at the transport. "That thing feels like being stuck in a box."

"It basically is, eh?" Flower's bright grin falters a little bit, but then it's back like nothing happened at all. "I know we've met, but it doesn't feel like we've done it properly. Marc-Andre."

He offers his hand. Sid takes it, feeling a little silly. He'd kind of assumed that Flower would be on board with the whole roommate arrangement, but now he's starting to realize that Flower might not remember much from when he's feral.

"Sid. I, uh, hope you don't mind, the trainers suggested that I move in. If you'd rather I don't, I'll just call and tell them to leave all the stuff at Mario's—"

"No, no, it's good!" Flower's accent gives his words lilted quality, like he's laughing at everyone. "You want to go in?"

"We'll leave you to it," Meghan says, waving them both on. "Flower, there's optional skate tomorrow, but I think you should take it. More time around the rest of the team can only help."

Flower looks at the transport, and for the first time since it seems like he's come back to himself, he looks a little wolflike. His lips curl back away from his teeth in a snarl of disgust. They're still flat and human, though.

"If you think it's best," he says, with a little sigh under his voice. "What time?"

"Nine. I'll call ahead." Meghan gets back in the transport, and Sid finds himself feeling relieved that she's leaving.

Flower claps him on the shoulder, his hand squeezing briefly before he lets go. "Inside?"

"Sure." Sid follows him through the front door.

The house is on the small side, but it's on a big lot. Sid thinks that probably works out for Flower, who looks like he doesn't spend much time inside. There's one couch, piled with a heap of throw blankets and pillows, to the point where Sid isn't sure the actual couch surface is available to be sat on. The kitchen is sparse, the fridge stocked with cartons of eggs, packages of breakfast ham, big bags of spinach, and steak. There are probably two pans, total. There's a guest bedroom that still has the sheets folded in the middle of the bed.

"I'm not here much," Flower says, sounding hesitant for the first time as they end the meager tour back in the living room. "There's cable, though I never use it so I'm not sure what channels I have."

"It's okay, I'm mostly at the rink," Sid says. "And I'm not much of a TV person anyway, I'll probably just be reading."

"There's a grocery service. I'll show you how to order later, if you want anything besides what I have in the fridge."

Sid is already planning on ordering his weight in chicken. "I'll clean up after myself, you don't have to worry about it. I'm a pretty good roommate. I know this is all kind of sudden."

"It's okay," Flower says, and it comes out a little too rapidly to be casual. He looks away from Sid for a moment, down at the floor, before his gold eyes flick to Sid's with uncertainty in them. "It's better. Having someone around. When I'm alone here, sometimes it feels like... I don't know. The wolf gets restless."

"Do you feel it all the time?" Sid shoves over some of the throw pillows and sits. Flower doesn't even bother, he just wiggles into the pile and rolls around until there's a person-shaped depression in all of the fluff.

"I didn't always," Flower says, which sounds the same as what Sid has heard Taylor say. "When I was little, it only happened on the ice, and then only every once in a while. Once I was in bantam though..." he makes a gesture like he's saying that's it, waving his hand lazily in the air. Sid is looking down into his face again, sitting up while Flower is laying on his back.

"I felt mine in goal when I was still in mites, and dad told me I was done. My sister still plays, hers got strong in bantam, like yours. She says it's different than having a voice in your head, more like having a side of you that really wants to bite the skaters coming at you."

"She's right, it's not like a voice. It's like... feelings. It's hard to describe. I get so angry in the crease, even when I try to control it." Flower's eyes cut away from Sid toward the bay window and the grass outside. "I don't know if they told you about the kid I got in midget. Right across the hip, down the hamstring. He can't play anymore."

Sid feels... he doesn't know. There's something so sad in Flower's voice, full of regret and sorrow. Sid can't imagine knowing he was responsible for ending someone's career. The ice is dangerous, shit happened, but getting on the wrong end of a goalie was worse, in some ways, than busting an MCL going awkwardly into the boards. An accident was an accident, but with a goalie, Sid knew that the blame started to fly around.

"You didn't hurt anyone at Worlds," he says. "You swiped a lot, and you growled, but you didn't hurt anyone. Thibs was pretty mellow by the time he went down with his hip, maybe your wolf will settle, too."

"I don't want to hurt anyone again." Flower is still staring out the window. Hesitantly, because Sid is ever unsure of himself when it comes to boundaries and teammates, he rests a hand on Flower's shoulder. Immediately, Flower turns his face to that side, nudging his cheekbone against the back of Sid's hand. "That's why I'm glad you're here. My wolf feels settled around you."

Sid doesn't know what to say to that, so he just keeps his hand right where it is.

They fall asleep on the couch, tired from practice. When Sid wakes up, Flower has curled up closer, his head on Sid's thigh again. Sid's hand is in his hair. It must have drifted there while they slept.

Sid extracts himself slowly. Flower wakes up just enough to blink sleepy gold eyes up at him, then rolls over with a grumble and goes back to sleep. Sid doesn't try to move him, he just goes into the guest bedroom and makes the sheets, blinking sleep and grogginess out of his eyes only long enough to kick his shoes off and fall into bed. As he's falling down into sleep, he reaches out to the empty half of the bed, his palm resting on the sheets.

The road trip is hard, flying out to Buffalo for Flower's first game with them. The league had to rearrange their schedule a bit when Thibs went down, to give them enough time to bond with their new goalie, but it's only been a couple days. Flower gets to go on the plane with them, but he seems anxious the whole way, antsy in the transport and antsier as they start going up the stairs. He stops just outside the door to the plane, looking up at the blue sky and then back at the little hatchway.

"You okay?" Sid asks. He crowds up behind Flower on the steps, his weight on Flower's back. It's just better when they're in contact, more grounding.

"It's small," Flower says, his mouth pulled down. Sid likes seeing him smile so much more, so he pokes Flower in the side a little.

"It doesn't seem so small on the inside. Come on, you'll be okay."

Flower huffs, a more wolflike sound than he usually makes when he isn't on the ice, and finally ducks into the plane. Sid has to coax him down the aisle to a seat, and squishes him in against the window.

"I don't like it," Flower grumbles. "It's too closed in."

"It's a pretty short flight to Buffalo. We'll be off the plane in no time."

There isn't a house with a yard for Flower to run in after he gets off the plane, but he does take off at a dead sprint once he deplanes onto the tarmac, running the length of the jet and back.

"Jesus, what did he eat on the plane, pure sugar?" Brooks shakes his head.

"He just does this," Sid says, shrugging. "I mean, seems like it's kind of a good idea, eh? Get the blood moving after sitting so long."

"Goalies," Brooks says, as if that explains everything, and trails off after the rest of the team to the bus. 

Flower's cheeks are pinked from the cold when he finally stops running and jogs back to Sid, his grin stretching over his face. They walk to the bus together, bumping shoulders. He slides into a window seat and looks up at Sid expectantly, so Sid sits down next to him.

The first game they play with Flower in net, Sid feels like he's watching over his shoulder the whole time. They score on Flower first, and Sid can hear the crowd in the arena gasp as he skates close to the net while Flower is still growling and banging his stick on the ice to tap him on the helmet. He catches Flower's red-eyed gaze through his mask and thinks he sees the quirk of a little smile around his fangs.

Miller is in net for the Sabres. He's not as young as Flower, but as Talbo flies past his crease, skating close enough to the blue paint to be touched, Miller lunges out of position at him and Ziggy is able to bang their first goal past. The Sabres get another one by Flower, who lets out a screeching howl that makes all their hair stand on end, and then Sid assists on their second goal.

It isn't enough, and they lose it in overtime. Flower doesn't even fight as the trainers pull him along down the tunnel, head down and shuffling. Sid watches him go with an ache in his chest, wanting to tell him that it isn't his fault. They're taking him to a cool-down room, away from the visitor's locker room, because Flower still isn't settled enough after practice to join them, let alone after a game like this.

He does say that, later, after they've found a little park for Flower to run around in and burn off his post-game energy. He's curled up on the hotel couch with leaves in his hair again. Sid is picking them out absently.

"It wasn't your fault. The defense has to be paying attention to those rushes, breaking them up, not giving them passing lanes. When they can cycle the puck around like that, for that long, it's not on you."

"It's my net," Flower says, his voice muffled by the pillows. "I'm supposed to protect it."

"Nobody expects you to be Patrick Roy in your first game of the season." Sid watches Flower's shoulders hunch up around his ears and sighs. Without really thinking about what he's doing, he pushes his fingers deeper into Flower's hair and scratches over his scalp.

The tension goes out of Flower abruptly, and he squirms until he's draped across Sid's lap, making a contented noise that sounds a lot like a pleased groan. Sid feels himself flush, heat creeping up his neck. It's nothing. It's just Flower being tactile.

Flower plays for them against the Flyers in Philadelphia, and they lose. They come home to Pittsburgh to play the Lightning, and they lose. They haven't won a game yet this season, and it definitely isn't on Flower, but he's taking it hard. 

He takes it even harder when it turns out Thibs isn't as bad as they thought, and he comes back in for their next home game against the Devils. It causes a little bit of an incident, with miscommunication about who's starting and Flower and Thibs both ending up there for morning skate. The trainers have to wrestle them apart and tranq Flower, and Thibs is unbearable for the rest of practice, snarling at everyone.

"They're going to send me back down," Flower says, sounding despondent. They've moved the nest of pillows and blankets from the couch to the backyard, curled up together to share body heat. It took Flower another half hour after Sid got home to wake up from the tranquilizers, and Sid sat with him the whole time, a potent mix of anger and protectiveness surging through him like a high tide. He thinks it comes from his wolf, but lately, it's started to become a little hard to tell the difference.

"Maybe you can stay up. I mean, they already started your transition, and usually they don't start doing that unless they're really ready for you to take over, right? Because of territory stuff."

"Every time I see him out there in _my_ net..." Flower tenses against Sid, a little growl building in his chest. "But it's not mine, eh? Not yet anyway."

"It will be," Sid says, and he isn't just saying it to make Flower feel better. Thibs is on his way out—even healthy, he moves stiffer than Flower does. Flower is smooth in the crease, his reflexes fast and crisp. Thibs is losing it, they can all see it. He'll retire soon.

It's only been a week of them living in each other's pockets, but when Sid has to leave with the team on the first road trip without Flower, he feels strangely unsettled, like there's a piece missing. He's restless on the plane, getting up and pacing the aisle until Talbo talks him into a game of cards.

"Freaking out without your shadow?" he jokes, dealing out cards. "He's fine, Sid."

 _You didn't see him when I had to leave_ , Sid doesn't say, because the rest of the guys have still been a little weird about Flower. Sid is still the only one who really talks to him, aside from some passing comments and chirps. Flower still can't be with them in the room, not with Thibs there. It feels like he's held apart from the rest of the team, and it makes Sid feel weird.

"Yeah, I know," he says finally, because he doesn't want the silence to stretch on too long, and because Army is looking at him a little expectantly.

"It'll be good to have my roomie back, at least," Army says, catching Sid around the head and scrubbing his knuckles in Sid's hair. "Talbo snores."

"I don't!" Talbo protests. "At least I don't leave my shoes in the middle of the floor for someone to trip over and kill themselves!"

"Okay, mom, I'll remember next time, mom." Army throws his cards at Talbo. "Also, I fold."

Sid did miss this, hanging around with the rest of the guys, but it's not the same with Talbo and Army. He feels like he can tell Flower anything. 

They don't send Flower back down, but they do put Thibs back in net. Sid isn't sure if it's because they trust him more, or if it's because the full moon falls during their homestand. Sid has heard stories about ferals and the full moon, and he's not sure what to expect.

It turns out he doesn't need to expect much. Meghan comes over with a couple protein shakes and tells him to make sure Flower eats, and leaves without any further instruction.

Flower gets restless as it gets darker. They had a morning skate today that Flower wasn't there for, but Sid didn't push too hard and he isn't tired. He watches Flower pace the yard, bundled up in extra blankets. He starts to walk more hunched as the dusk slips away, red bleeding into his eyes. His fingers grow into claws, his ears get even more pointed and furry than they were the first time Sid got hauled into his net.

"Flower?" Sid calls, and gets a whuff in return. No language. It's like when Flower is in the crease, but not as aggressive. He just paces the length of the fence, sniffing.

Suddenly, the bright sliver of the moon crests the trees. Flower stops, arrested by the silvery light. His head goes back and he opens his mouth in a long, undulating howl.

It tugs at something in Sid's chest. He finds himself leaving the chair behind on the porch without really thinking about it. His ears itch; when he lifts his hands up to them he finds they're a little fuzzy, too. He comes to stand beside Flower in the yard and Flower bumps Sid's cheek with his nose, licks the line of his jaw, and howls.

This time, Sid feels the answer rising in his throat and breaking out of his chest before he thinks about what they're doing. They howl together under the light of the moon until Flower breaks into a run and Sid follows, laughing. Flower doubles back and tackles him into the light snow and dead leaves, rolling them around in it until they're wet and cold and smell like dirt. Sid can't stop smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.

They win against the Thrashers at home, lose to the Hurricanes, snatch a win from the Devils in overtime, and blow out the Islanders. They start trading wins and losses, instead of just losing all the time, but then they drop three in a row at home, losing the last one to the Islanders in overtime, like they were out for revenge. Thibs is in net for all of it, the ugly losses and ugly wins alike, until he isn't.

Flower gets the call that they want him on the plane soon after Sid drags his weary body through the front door. He comes into the guest room where Sid is laying facedown and boneless across the bed and wiggles his way into Sid's space, laying half on top of him.

"I'm playing," he says, unable to keep the grin out of his voice. Sid feels some of the bone-deep exhaustion of the game wash away, and his lips tug into a return smile.

"I told you," he murmurs sleepily. He falls asleep easy with Flower there.

They win. They win in Philly's barn, in overtime, and Flower only lets in two goals. It's the first time they've won it for Flower, and Sid doesn't even think before he skates over to the crease and wraps his arms around Flower in a big hug. He feels more than hears the contented rumble Flower makes in return. Flower bumps his mask against Sid's jaw, and Sid is pretty sure that if he wasn't wearing it his nose would be in Sid's neck, scenting.

"You alright there, Sid?" Mario asks, and Sid finally has to let Flower go so the rest of the team won't be worried. Flower looks right up at Mario, red eyes and mouth full of teeth and all, and bumps his head against Mario's chest. Mario looks startled, his hands hovering like he isn't sure what to do, but he gives Flower a couple pats on the helmet regardless.

It means that Flower can be in the room with them for the postgame. Sid finds out new things about him, like how he gets out of his skates and strips off the top half of his gear but can't seem to be bothered with the bottom until after Army chirps him that he stinks, or how he shakes his head like a dog when he comes _out_ of the shower, not-so-accidentally showering Army with most of it.

"I just dried off!" Army protests, aggrieved, and snaps a towel at Flower. Sid can tell it was reflex and he didn't realize what he was doing until he let fly from the way his eyes go wide and he tries to haul it back.

Flower yelps when it hits him and leaps at Army, but his fingers are still fingers instead of claws, and they're just rolling around whacking at each other. Gonch finally yells at them to break it up or they'll be late for the bus.

Later, while Sid and Flower are scrunched up together on the plane, Talbo comes by with his pack of cards, waving it at them.

"Do you play?" he asks Flower. It's the first time he's talked directly to Flower instead of asking Sid to talk to him instead.

"Poker?" Flower asks, uncurling from his seat and looking interested. "A little."

He's a dirty liar and fleeces them all, submitting to Talbo and Army throwing their cards in his face with a beautific, satisfied smile. Talbo shakes a finger at him as he gets up to go back to his seat and says something in rapid French that Sid only barely understands. Flower barks out a loud, delighted laugh and bats at him, playful, before Talbo slinks off in defeat.

It's the beginning of a change for them, for the whole team and how they are with Flower. The guys were never more than wary and standoffish around Thibs, but Flower is different. Sid isn't sure if it's what the trainers said, Sid settling Flower's wolf, or if it's just the way Flower is, easy and bright. Talbo and Army even start coming over to the house to hang out after practices, to watch TV and eat and talk shit. Flower likes having someone around that he can speak French with, since Sid's is so terrible.

He doesn't get another start until near the end of November, and it's the Sabres again. Sid feels like his awareness of Flower is heightened even during warm-ups, and he makes sure to skate close to the crease so Flower can smell he's there. Normally, Flower will track Sid when he's on the ice, or flash Sid a little smile as he blows past the crease. This time, he's staring Miller down at the other end, his tether pulled taut. Sid's skin prickles with a feeling like an oncoming storm.

The game is a mess, penalties all over the place from the first drop of the puck. They score about four minutes in, and Sid starts to think he's nervous for nothing. Maybe Flower is just extra dialed in because he doesn't want to lose to the Sabres again. They're tied at the end of the first, despite trading penalties all period, and Flower is still weird in the room when they come off the ice. He doesn't take off his helmet like he usually does and sits tucked into the goalie stall. Sid drifts over next to him as they're talking the period over and leans against his side.

"You alright there?" he asks, nudging Flower a little. Sometimes Flower manages a word or two between periods, but it seems like this isn't one of those times. He glances up at Sid, red eyes lingering on his face for just a second, and then whuffs before he resumes glaring at the wall. Sid taps his pads with his stick, and can't help but still feel worried as the trainers walk him out on the tether for the start of the second.

It isn't until near the end of the second that everything goes to hell.

When the breakaway happens, it's Whitney that muffs the defensive play, leaving too much of a gap between him and Buffalo's number 28. The shooter streaks in fast toward the goal, and Sid's heart pounds in his throat, seeing what's about to happen before it does.

"I need a change!" he shouts, as loud as he can. "Get me out there!"

He doesn't yell fast enough. Brooks is skating toward the bench and Sid has one leg over the boards when 28 blows a tire and slides right into the crease. Right into Flower.

Sid hears the snarl from halfway across the ice. He doesn't wait for Brooks to get to the bench, just hops the boards and puts speed. Flower has 28 pinned to the ice, swiping at his head with his glove. The only reason he hasn't killed him yet is because he still has his gear on. When Sid gets within two strides he finally seems to realize what's keeping his claws from getting a good bite, because he starts to shake his blocker off.

"Flower, _no!_ " Sid lets his momentum take him right into Flower, a hard knock that jars him away from 28. The guy tries to wiggle out from under Flower, but Flower is practically sitting on him and his legs are pinned under the bulky pads.

Flower barks at Sid, having finally shed his blocker, and tries to go for the Buffalo skater again. Sid catches his wrist before he can lay in with his claws, then twists so he can tuck that arm firmly under his elbow. He pushes with his skates, feels the edges bite, and manages to scoot Flower back a good couple inches.

It's enough for 28 to scramble out of the crease, though Sid has to dodge a flailing skate blade while he does it. His face is sheet white under his helmet, his lips pressed together in a terrified, bloodless line.

"The fuck were you thinking?" Sid snaps at him, before turning back to Flower, who's still trying to shove around Sid to get to the interloper. "Flower, cut it out—that's enough, he's gone—Flower! Hey!"

He grabs Flower's helmet in both hands and forces his head up to look at Sid, not at the Buffalo player, who's currently being helped up by one of his teammates. Flower's eyes glitter like blood. He has all his teeth bared, over-large and sharp, and he's flexing his claws like he'd still really like to get a piece of number 28.

"Calm down." Sid tries to keep his tone soothing, despite feeling rattled himself. He can hear the approach of skate blades and looks up. Gonch is the only other person on the ice that Flower is somewhat easy with, and he skates up to Sid's other side to block Flower's view of the Buffalo players altogether.

It works. Flower stops trying to pull out of Sid's hands, stops growling so loud. It dies down to a deep rumble, and Sid breathes out a sigh of relief, leaning down to bump his helmet against Flower's.

"Sid—Sid!" one of the linesmen stops well away from the blue paint, drawing another growl from Flower. Sid is still centimeters away from his face, and he sees Flower's eyes dart toward the official.

"He's fine, I've got him. Right, Flower?" Sid stares him down, willing him to understand. They have a game to play. If the refs want to pull Flower as a danger, they'll have to take a delay while they bring Thibs or the emergency backup in.

Flower pats Sid on the helmet, his claws scraping a little, and whuffs like he does when he's displeased. Slowly, almost like he's shrugging the whole thing off, he skates back into his net and picks up his blocker.

Sid is about to turn around and tell the ref that everything is fine when Flower smiles with a mouthful of teeth. Sid has learned to be wary of that smile, because Flower isn't above sneaking up behind people and barking, or pulling more sophisticated pranks in the room. He's staring over at the Buffalo bench, and Sid follows the line of his gaze until he finds number 28 staring back.

Grinning the whole time, Flower scrapes his claws over the ice in the crease, gouging up chips, then straightens up, puts his blocker on, and starts sweeping the snow away with his stick like he never did anything at all.

Sid turns around to find the linesman and the referee watching the whole thing with identical skeptical expressions.

"Come on, that's just chirping," Sid says, gesturing at how Flower is now innocently testing the fit of his blocker and moving side to side in the crease, making sure he isn't tangled in his tether. "You're telling me that move wasn't a penalty for entering the crease in the first place?"

"That was an accident, Sid," the ref says, like he's trying to be patient.

"Well what do you think Flower's going to do when someone runs him? You can't tell me that's enough for anything against him, the guy was in his crease."

A player coming in fast on a breakaway is supposed to swerve before they get to the blue paint, pass to one side or the other. They're not supposed to go bodily into the goaltender, not if they want to keep their limbs.

"You almost got your team too many men flying out here like that, so don't act like you haven't done anything," the linesman says, getting a little testy. Sid feels a hand on his shoulder and looks up to find Mario.

"He was in the paint," Mario says, shrugging. "What did you expect Flower to do? That's his territory."

"Look, we'll call it offsetting minors, but if he goes at anyone else you'll have to make a change in goal and take the delay."

Sid takes a breath and feels Mario's hand tighten on his shoulder. He lets the breath out through his teeth and doesn't argue, even though he skates away from the little conference seething.

They still lose. It's like Flower attacking their player lit a fire under the Sabres, and despite an early goal by LeClair in the third, the Sabres get one past Flower—from distance, Sid notes, as they aren't trying much around the net front anymore—and they go down.

It's the most miserable Sid has ever seen Flower after a game. He doesn't run in the yard. He slinks inside like his tail would be between his legs if he had one and hauls the blankets off the couch, dragging them into the kitchen so he can curl up by the back door, open just a crack to let in the wind and fresh air.

Sid sits down next to him. Usually they'd be curled up together, a tangle of limbs and body heat. Sid wants to lean into him now, but Flower is hunched in on himself, looking down at his knees.

"He shouldn't have been in the crease," Sid tells him.

"I almost killed him," Flower says softly. "If I had remembered sooner I was wearing a glove, he'd be dead."

"I would have gotten there in time, or Meghan would have gotten you with the tranq. She told me later she was waiting on the boards, just wanted to see if I could get there before she had to shoot. She knows you hate it."

Flower picks at the fuzz on one of their blankets, balling up little pieces of lint and flicking them away. "It was too close."

"Hey," Sid says, finally leaning in so their shoulders brush. "Trust me, okay? We'll make sure you don't hurt anyone. Say the word, and I'll tell Meghan she can shoot you next time as soon as it looks bad."

"You'd take a major for delay of game," Flower says, miserable. "Better to just have Thibs in net."

"We lose all the time anyway, right?" Sid tries to smile, but he can't find it. He hates losing. He hates losing this much, and he especially hates what it does to Flower. Instead he just bumps Flower with his shoulder again. "You didn't hurt anyone. I made sure you didn't. I'll make sure you don't, okay?"

"I just want to be here," he says, curled up in their nest of blankets. It's too cold to sit outside on the grass now, so they make do by crowding it up against the back door, which is open a crack. Flower likes to feel the wind and breathe fresh air after a game. "I mean, I want the net to be mine, obviously. My wolf wants that, I don't think I could keep it together if I saw Thibs even outside the rink. But more than that, I don't want to go anywhere."

"You're not," Sid says, squeezing him in a hard hug. The stab of panic he feels at the thought of Flower leaving makes him hold on just a little tighter than usual. "You're with us for good."

Flower stays in net for the next three games, even with the Buffalo incident. The guys are extra wary of him for the first game after that, but nobody comes near the crease and Flower doesn't try to maul anyone outside it, so they're back to normal before long.

They lose, and lose, and lose. It's December, and they have seven wins for the whole season so far. Sid knew, intellectually, that he wouldn't be able to singlehandedly turn the Penguins around, but sometimes he thinks it's wearing on him as much as it's wearing on Flower. He isn't even in net for the 5-0 loss against the Wild, but he wraps himself around Sid extra tight when Sid gets home, breathing hot into the crook of Sid's neck.

"I just wish I knew what we weren't doing," Sid says. "There has to be something we can do to fix it."

"It's not all on you to fix it," Flower says, even though they both know that it is. Sid was drafted as the savior of a franchise, and he needs to start winning.

Flower starts the next game against the Avalanche, and they win. It doesn't hold up. They drop the next three against the Wings, Blues, and Sabres again, all with Flower in the net. Thibs plays the second half of the back to back and they still lose, so it's not like anyone can say it's on goaltending, but it's frustrating. Flower is frustrated with himself and the team both—he swipes at Gonch in practice, and has taken to growling at their D-men when they don't block shots and let them get in on their goalie instead.

They get their next win against the Devils just before the new year, and then their next one against the Rangers on New Year's Eve. It gives them ten wins total for the season at the end of December, and at this point nobody is thinking playoffs are even an option. They just need to get through the rest of the season, try not to keep sucking in front of their home fans, at least, the ones that are still left. It isn't what Sid expected when he came to the show, and it's hard to keep pushing through when it feels like the only thing on the other end of it is losses.

They get too drunk after the New Year's Eve game. It had been a strange one, and Mario had been uncharacteristically quiet ahead of the game the way he always is when they play the Rangers. Sid remembers watching him and Jagr line up across from each other, seeing Mario's face go tight and Jagr's go blank, and wondering what that was all about. They all took way too many penalties, but Flower kept them in it, despite trading goals back and forth all night. Sid scored the game winner. It's the four of them on the floor of Flower's living room—Sid, Flower, Army and Talbo—taking big gulps of beer whenever one of them remembers something noteworthy from the game.

"That boarding penalty," Army says, trying to nudge Sid and instead just swaying into his side. Flower has his arm around Sid, his hand resting on Sid's hip, and his fingers go tight when Army starts his lean. Sid scoots a little closer to him, letting Army slide off onto the floor. "That boarding was like _that_ , wasn't, wasn't even boarding."

"Sure, Army," Sid says, hiding his smile in his beer. "And yours wasn't hooking either."

"It wasn't!" Army sits back up. "I was just, wasn't. No hooking."

"I would hope you're not doing any hooking, you don't have the face for it," Flower says, very dry, and they all blink at his wicked smirk drunkenly until Talbo cracks up laughing while Army complains that Flower should be drunker.

Sid feels a bubbling surge of fondness. He's glad they can finally see it too, how Flower is funny and clever and warm. Maybe that last part is just because Sid is sitting so close. Sid lists into him, leaning his head on Flower's shoulder, feeling his eyes get heavy.

He must doze. He floats back to consciousness with his head in Flower's lap, Flower's fingers in his hair, like a mirror of all the times he's done this for Flower on the couch after losses. They're still talking over his head, and he feels like he's listening without really hearing.

"—Thought Mario was going to shit a whole pile of bricks when he hugged you after the Philly game," Army is saying. "But you always know it's him, don't you?"

"Always," Flower says, his voice firm. "The rest of you, maybe you take a hard hit, smell a little like someone else, I don't know who you are right away. Sid, I always know. Even when I can't think."

"What's that like?" Talbo asks, after a little pause. "I've felt my wolf maybe once or twice my whole life. I mean, they're always saying we need to turn our brains off and let our bodies take over, stop thinking so much on the ice, but you do work that way."

"It's not like that, it's not like game discipline or anything. It's like... everything gets simpler. Quieter. Instead of thinking, you know, this shooter goes glove high, be ready for that shot, it's just seeing and reacting and feeling it. It's not thinking in words or complicated concepts anymore it's just..." Flower trails off, like he's looking for the right words to explain. "The wolf doesn't think like humans do. It's, you know, 'threat,' 'safe,' 'pack,' 'enemy.' And it changes in a split second, what the wolf is feeling."

"And we're pack and they're the enemy," Talbo says. "Except sometimes you don't recognize us, either."

"The trainers keep saying I'll get there, that it's a matter of the wolf getting used to you. I don't have much time to do that with Thibs still taking practices and starts. Thousands of years ago I would have fought him for it," Flower says. "The wolf still wants to. The instincts don't understand that I'm not the shape it expects."

"Can you do it? Full shift?" Army sounds eager and fascinated, and Sid doesn't blame him. He's never met anyone in his life that can full shift.

"No. I can get close, but I don't like it. It takes too long for me to come back."

There's a little bit of an uncomfortable pause after that.

"I didn't think about," Talbo starts, then stops. "Is it bad? When you go feral?"

"It feels natural. It's the easiest thing in the world to just let go and be the wolf. After, though." Flower's hands move in Sid's hair, making him shiver just a little. He tries to play it off like he's still asleep. Sometimes, he feels like Flower is protecting him, whether it's because he's still only nineteen or because he doesn't want Sid to run away. "After, it takes me a while to start thinking like a person again. That's what the running is for, after the games. Run it out of my system so I can think again."

Sid hears something in his voice, something that makes him open his eyes slow and roll over on his back, so that he's looking up at Flower's face. Flower doesn't look surprised to see him awake; Sid supposes he wouldn't be, because even outside the rink, Flower's senses are sharper than Sid's. He would have been able to hear the difference in his breathing.

"Does it scare you?" he asks, and maybe this is something he should ask when the others are gone, when it's just him and Flower in the dark. "Do you think one day you might not be able to come back?"

"It used to," Flower says, holding his eyes. "Not anymore."

Sid rolls back over, just so the other guys can't see his cheeks turning pink. He wonders how sensitive Flower's hearing really is, whether he can hear how Sid's heart is beating a little faster in his chest.

"What is it about Sid?" Army has apparently decided they've gotten to the drunk secret-sharing point of the night. "I mean, I know there was World Juniors and all, but you must have barely known each other—"

"He knew me from the Q," Flower says. "I mean, he didn't know me but he knew of me. Sid, do you remember? The first thing you did when I was on the ice with you guys was tap my stick and say you liked the poke check. You didn't smell like you were afraid. Everyone else was fear sweat, but you were just you."

Sid smiles, his face still pillowed on Flower's thigh. "I remember."

"Good to know he's always been like this," Talbo laughs. "I thought maybe it was just the first overall thing, coming in with no fear because he's the best."

"I'm not," Sid protests, but nobody hears him.

Talbo and Army leave not long after the clock strikes midnight. Flower walks them to the door. Sid feels cold without Flower's body heat pressed up against him. It occurs to him that he hasn't touched someone as much as he touches Flower in years, not since he left home for Shattuck.

"Did you mean that, about not being afraid you'll lose yourself anymore?"

Flower stops in the doorway of the living room. He's looking at Sid, disheveled in their nest of blankets on the floor, with that expression he gets now and again, the one that makes Sid feel somehow exposed and safe at the same time, the one that reminds Sid that they say gold is a soft metal.

"Of course I meant it. I'm not going to lie about something like that."

"What do you." Sid swallows. He's treading on unfamiliar ground, here. "What does your wolf feel, when I'm there?"

"Safe." Flower finally steps into the room, sitting next to Sid on some of the pillows and leaning their shoulders together. "Home."

Sid looks down at the floor. "What if I'm traded someday?"

"They're not going to trade you," Flower says, laughing.

"Hey, Gretzky got traded, anyone can get traded." Sid picks at the corner of one of the pillows. "What if I have to retire before you? What if I'm hurt?"

Flower growls a little, in the back of his throat. He wraps his arms around Sid's waist and puts his face in the crook of Sid's neck, the way they sit when Flower needs some extra reassurance. Sid never really thought about how that would look to the outside, but he thinks about it now. What the team must think. What the media will think, once they get wind of how tactile they are with each other.

"I'm just saying, we can't predict what's going to happen, and you're pinning your... your everything on me, basically, you're leaning on me to stay _human_ , Flower, that's... that's a lot."

Flower has gone still. "Do you not want to, anymore?"

Deep within him, Sid's wolf stirs. The idea of not having Flower is intolerable. The idea of withdrawing, leaving Flower with nobody feels like tearing his heart out of his chest with his bare hands.

"I think I want too much," Sid says, nearly too quiet to hear. "I think I've gotten the wrong idea about what this is."

"What about what this is?" The way Flower asks, he sounds wary.

Sid doesn't know. It's only been two months, but it feels like so much longer. When Flower isn't there, Sid finds himself looking for him. When Flower is there, they gravitate toward each other like a pair of magnets, no matter where they are. Sid thinks about how he sleeps at night, with one hand stretched out to the empty half of the bed, like someone should be there, but isn't.

He thinks about what Flower said to Mario, that first day they brought him out onto Penguins ice.

"Is there anything else your wolf thinks, when you think of me?" Sid leans back into Flower's weight. He still doesn't feel close enough. He thinks they could occupy the same space, atom for atom, and it wouldn't be enough.

"Sid," Flower whispers. His nose is still pressed against the skin of Sid's neck. Slowly, he shifts, until his mouth is, too. Until he's kissing the skin of Sid's throat, just over the beat of his pulse. "It says, _mine_."

Sid's throat works. He knows Flower can feel it under his lips. He twists around until they're facing each other and grabs for Flower's face in both hands so he can kiss him for real. It's desperate and messy, and Sid hasn't kissed anyone since before he left for Shattuck, when he was just thirteen and didn't know what to do with his lips or his hands or his tongue.

It's not like that with Flower. It's like something clicks in his head, snapping into alignment, and all he can feel from his wolf is a wash of contentment, prickling over his skin. Flower's mouth is so warm against his. His lips are thinner but it doesn't matter, because he touches the tip of his tongue against Sid's mouth and a shiver rocks through him from head to toe.

Flower pulls Sid down on top of him, his long legs tangled with Sid's. Their teeth bump. Flower wiggles around until a lump in the blanket is out from under his back. They're kissing through it all, clumsy, lips sliding against each other. Flower's hands creep down Sid's back until they're on Sid's ass, squeezing, and Sid grunts into his mouth. He leans down on his elbow and pushes his fingers into Flower's hair.

Sid kicks a beer can over and they have to stop long enough to hunt down towels and mop up the mess. After they've wrung the towels out in the sink and thrown them in the washing machine, Flower puts his hand on the small of Sid's back and tugs him in close again.

"I'm too tired and drunk for sex," he says, slumping against Sid's shoulder. Sid wraps Flower up in his arms and holds on, breathing in deep. His wolf isn't as close to the surface as Flower's, not by far, but he thinks maybe he can pick out one scent and commit it to memory.

"I kind of miss you when I'm asleep. Does that even make sense?" Sid lets Flower give him a gentle little push down the hallway toward the bedroom, not missing the smile that's crept over his face.

"Yes."

It feels better, sleeping in the same bed as Flower. Sid wakes up to discover that Flower drools in his sleep; Sid's shoulder is wet. He bites down on his lip to keep from laughing as he rubs it all over Flower's face.

"Ugh! Sid!" Flower scoots away, wiping his face on the blankets. "You have no romance in your soul."

A honking giggle bursts out of Sid's mouth at Flower's near-mournful expression. "It was your own drool!"

"No romance," Flower says, and rolls out of bed to get started on eggs.

The transport comes to pick them up to take them to the rink after they've eaten breakfast. When they get into the back, Sid finds Flower's hand in the dark and holds on. Sid smiles at him, and Flower squeezes his hand in return.

Goalies don't get traded; they stay with one team their whole careers and then retire. Flower isn't going anywhere, not unless he gets injured. Sid probably isn't going anywhere either, despite what he said about Gretzky's trade. It was a different era back then, and Mario worked too hard to make sure Sid was a Penguin to ever give him up.

"Whatever happens, it'll be you and me for good." Sid can't scoot any close to Flower on the seat, so he throws one of his legs across Flower's instead, that little extra bit of contact.

Flower's smile is probably Sid's favorite thing about him, the way his mouth stretches and his eyes crinkle and his even his nose scrunches up. It outshines the dim light from the transport's windows.

"Let's win some Cups together, eh?" Flower says.

Sid thinks that sounds like the best thing in the world.


End file.
